the strong lilting brogue she’d come to expect from the highlanders.
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, holding her stick like a club.
“And who are you, lass, to be threatening us?” the older one demanded belligerently. The carrot-red of his hair and sparse beard were a comical contrast to the blue paint. His clean-shaven, blue-faced companion was much younger, with brown curling hair covering not only his head but his chest and back. It was all very unnerving.
Before Anne could answer, she heard a step behind her. The warrior. He’d moved with such stealth she hadn’t been aware of his approach.
“Here now.” He reached for her makeshift weapon.
Anne whirled to defend herself, swinging her club with all her might and whacked him hard right across the midsection.
Unfortunately, he moved at the same time and she hit him a bit lower than she’d planned.
His response was immediate. The air left his body with a “whoosh.” He doubled over, falling to his knees right in front of her.
Anne took a step back. She hadn’t known she was so strong.
The brown-haired man winced in sympathy. “Och, right in the bloody bollocks. Did you see that, Deacon? The lass neutered Tiebauld.”
Neutered? Tiebauld?
Anne dropped the club, her mind numb with horror. “You are Lord Tiebauld?”
The warrior couldn’t speak. He wheezed something which the man called Deacon interpreted: “He says he is.” Deacon’s voice was laced with lazy humor.
“He may never be the same,” his companion predicted.
“Aye,” Deacon agreed. “’Tis a pity. The lasses will have to turn to us for comfort, Hugh.”
“We’ll be forced to work twice as hard to please them,” Hugh answered.
Anne didn’t care about their problems. She had to make amends with her husband…before she could tell him he was her husband. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, reaching to help him rise.
He pulled back, his arm staving her off. “It will be fine. Shortly.” His voice was hoarse from pain.
“Please, I—” She fell silent, seeing what she should have seen from the very beginning. Sharp blue eyes identical to Lady Waldo’s. The eyes in the miniature…although the rest of him was now a far cry from Anne’s image of an idealistic scholar. Lord Tiebauld had filled out as a man. More than filled out—he seemed to have doubled in size. The effect was intimidating, even when he was on his knees.
And then he stood up.
It hadn’t been her imagination—he was tall. And strong. Anne wiped her nervous palms against her skirts and stepped back. For the second time since she’d been in his company, words stuck in her throat.
A strand of hair had come loose from her braid. It blew across her face. He surprised her by pushing it back, a gentle gesture, a thoughtful one. Certainly not a threatening one from a man called the Madman of Scotland—
“Is the man on the hill your husband?”
Anne blinked, disoriented by the word husband. Then she understood he wasn’t speaking about himself. “Todd? No, he was my coachman.”
Now was the time to tell him.
She hesitated. Then, “How did you know I was married?”
Straight, even teeth flashed in the blue paint of his face. “That is a wedding ring on your finger, isn’t it?”
Anne had an unreasonable desire to hide her hand in the folds of her skirts. She clenched her fist. She wasn’t ready for the confession, not ready at all.
He misinterpreted her fears, his gaze softened. “Your husband will be happy to know you are safe after such a bad accident.”
“I hope he will,” she managed to say. Tell him, her inner voice urged. Now.
But Deacon had joined them. “Our faces probably frightened the wits out of her, Tiebauld.”
Her husband looked down at the way he was dressed and laughed in agreement. He had a melodic, carefree laugh, for such a large man. Anne knew he would have a fine singing voice, too. And he didn’t sound maniacal at all.
“It’s a ritual Hugh, Deacon, and I have,” he explained, with a touch of sheepishness over his peculiar dress. “Based on Celt customs. Well, actually, they are customs of our own. They make the sport more enjoyable. Adds to the game of the chase.”
“Game?”
“Aye, a little danger is a healthy thing.” He shrugged with a rueful grin, like an overgrown boy who couldn’t help himself from pulling a prank.
Relief teetered inside her. Her husband didn’t sound raving mad—just unconventional. He had a reason for being blue. Of course, she didn’t know what to make of a man who considered it a game to fight a